


Creating Language and Following Intuition

by GentleGiraffe



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleGiraffe/pseuds/GentleGiraffe
Summary: Dale was absolutely certain about very little. He didn’t know where he wanted to grow old, he didn’t know enough about the giant to say anything with conviction, and he didn’t quite know who killed Laura Palmer. These were things he had to carry with him, and they were tough. They ate him alive. He wanted to have all the answers, he really did. He was used to knowing something—he was a collector of clues and a student of his own mind—but he didn't know everything.And yet, he knew that Harry was special in a way he wasn’t used to. He knew this with absolute and unshakable assurance.





	Creating Language and Following Intuition

**Author's Note:**

> Some character exploration with,,, some more literal character exploration at the end there. I didn't have a handle on a plot to create, so this is just an excuse for me to practice throwing some words together with my current favorite boys in mind.

Dale Cooper was a man of intuition. Every gut feeling, every hair raising oddity, every “coincidence” meant something to him. The world was a strange and inexplicable place, but some people were a lot blinder than others. And some people, Dale included, were a lot more open. More receptive. 

Dale knew how to frame his experiences and how to compare seemingly random happenstances to chance. He knew how to absorb information even if he didn’t always know what to do with it, and he knew how to later connect the dots that seemed to transcend any relation to each other. What are the odds that these events aren’t associated? Low, and falling steadily.

Dale Cooper was a man of intuition. And the feeling he got when he entered the little town of Twin Peaks was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. 

He had already sensed a connection to this case and Teresa Banks. Speaking to Albert in his far-off lilt. Blonde. A high school girl. But it was deeper than that. The feeling that entered his body wasn’t just the nervousness tinged with excitement that normally made itself known as a case was beginning. There was a calmness too. A sense of belonging he couldn’t quite place. He felt warm and his mind was clear. He chalked it up to the cherry pie he’d had on the trip over, but bookmarked the feelings in his memory nonetheless.

\---

And then, he met the sheriff. Harry S. Truman. Peculiar name, for a peculiar man. The kindest face he’d seen in a long while. The rest of him was gruff and unassuming. And he was worried—genuinely, sincerely worried—about this little town of his. Dale had had enough tension-filled interactions with local law enforcement to last him a lifetime. This was a pleasant surprise. He was being welcomed. He cataloged the oddity, smiled widely, and continued down the hall.

\---

The sense that Dale was supposed to be in Twin Peaks only grew stronger as he continued his work. The townsfolk were welcoming, the food was delicious, and the scenery was breathtaking. It was an unusual sensation, feeling so comfortable in the midst of a murder investigation. Of course he had the normal experiences that accompanied his work as well—being able to find that perfect balance of anxiety and caffeine that heightened his senses and set him on the trajectory towards collecting the answers he needed—but there was a safety in it all too. It felt like putting on a well-fitted coat at the end of a long day. 

And as he continued to learn his surroundings and understand the people he was working with, he realized these strange feelings always led back to Harry. Dale kept his mind busy, calculating other possibilities, and what this possibility in particular even meant. He would notice a new sensation and then follow it down the rabbit hole until it petered out or brought him new meaning. And this particular rabbit just kept bounding back to Harry.

They worked in close-quarters and Dale was pleased to note that Harry didn’t seem guarded or defensive around an outsider FBI agent. In fact, he seemed quite the opposite. Harry always watched him. Wide-eyed, intent, and loyal. His eyes tracking Dale’s expressions and his focus never faltering, even as the theories Dale spun grew wilder and more out of reach. Dale almost felt bad for leading Harry down these winding paths but Harry seemed so keen to follow. Though skeptical, he was no stranger to the strangeness of these woods. And he had an inkling for adventure, a tangible excitement Dale found entirely contagious. 

They played off each other well, and Dale was delighted to have discovered a friend in his coworker. 

\---

And the friendship grew. And Dale’s awareness of these sensations grew. The strength Dale felt rise in him as Harry entered a room was overwhelming. His mind prickled with the desire to learn everything Harry had to say about the town, and then some. Harry, calmly giddy to be sharing his knowledge when Dale asked about the indigenous wildlife, satiated Dale’s curiosity as a cool glass of water sates a parched man. He was captivated. He was happy here. 

Dale was absolutely certain about very little. He didn’t know where he wanted to grow old, he didn’t know enough about the giant to say anything with conviction, and he didn’t quite know who killed Laura Palmer. These were things he had to carry with him, and they were tough. They ate him alive. He wanted to have all the answers, he really did. He was used to knowing something—he was a collector of clues and a student of his own mind—but he didn’t know everything.  
And yet, he knew that Harry was special in a way he wasn’t used to. He knew this with absolute and unshakable assurance. His experiences were interwoven with the recent events and they always led him here. They always led him to Harry.

The undeniable connection. The way they easily played off each other, communicating in glances and tilts of the head. A slight touch on the small of the back as one walked past each other. A brush of the fingers as one handed the other another cup of coffee. Dale felt at ease in the language they had crafted together. He was a native speaker, and he was eager to continue reveling in the nuances. 

 

**********

 

Watching Doc Hayward turn the plastic-wrapped body over on the beach to reveal a stiff and lifeless Laura Palmer sent such a chill down Harry’s spine, he was sure he had been frozen solid. Twin Peaks was far from perfect, but there was no way something like this could happen here. His mind reeled, refusing to latch onto the fact that the fire of this high school girl had been snuffed out.

He didn’t know how to pull himself back, how to ground himself in this new reality. He couldn’t do it himself. What a relief it was when the Bureau was called in. The professionals. 

At first, Harry couldn’t place why it seemed so easy to talk to Special Agent Dale Cooper. He had never had interactions with the FBI, and he was honestly more nervous than he was able to admit to himself. But, he was comforted to have the home-field advantage and assuredly gave Agent Cooper the details of the case thus far. It was almost exciting that Cooper was an outsider. Twin Peaks didn’t see many of those. A new spark in the dull persistent embers.

Quickly, though, Harry realized there was something about Cooper, something more than transience that called to him. Because even though Harry knew Dale would leave the second the case was over, he felt as though he’d known the man for years and he knew he would miss him greatly. It was odd, how seamlessly Dale fit into the thrum of everyday life. The easy conversation he had with Andy, and the way he made Lucy feel special. He immediately becomes a mysterious, impermanent fixture in the permanently mysterious town and Harry wasn’t sure how to reconcile anything that had been going on in the past few days.

Harry felt distracted and highly tuned into his every sensation simultaneously. Dale had that effect; he made everything in the room positively buzz with kinetic possibilities. Harry understood that his town was under the microscope as this outsider made sense of it and he felt an unmatched pride swell inside him as Dale observed with reverence, deferring to Harry to be his guide. 

\---

They found their rhythm wordlessly but it felt as well thought-out as any script. Carefully planned interactions that needed no discussion whatsoever. Matched footsteps and shared lunch breaks. Cooper was respectful of Harry’s space and often opted for the conference room as a place to work, but he was never unwelcome in Harry’s office and Harry found himself smiling anytime the agent’s form filled the doorway.  
Harry didn’t believe in intuition or fate or cosmic order, but he couldn’t deny that he felt pulled to Agent Cooper. He tried not to pay it too much mind—they had a murder case to solve, after all—but he couldn’t ignore it altogether.  
Dale was so incredibly unusual in a way that seemed to make complete and perfect sense. And soon Harry realized it was his smile. Everything about Dale was so regulation. Fitted suit, rigid, slick hair, keen senses, and unwavering bureau loyalty. But his smile was spontaneous. Dale didn’t attend to it. He seemed to smile in spite of himself. His ears raising slightly as a grin spread, prompted by the smell of coffee or the sight of the sunset. That smile melted any pretense of a regulated, cool exterior, no matter how mismatched they might seem, and Harry couldn’t believe how wonderful he found it. 

 

**********

 

Comfort grew, trust grew, admiration grew. They both had so much to offer, and they were both so receptive to learning from the other. Even if Harry felt, on occasion, like he was trailing behind Sherlock Holmes, Cooper never demoted him to an inferior witness. Cooper needed his judgement and his experiences, and Harry fully believed Coop’s sincerity. 

And, when both forces feel that pull, well it’s just going to become stronger. There really was no other way, when it came down to it. As the case got more complicated the nights got longer. More meals were shared, more time was spent. Learning each other’s patterns. Their mannerisms. Their lingering glances and touches. 

Cooper worked in the conference room less, more than happy to share the office Harry was so generous to open up to him. Coop spun tales of his dreams into the air and Harry listened, mystified, never sure if he was more impressed by the uncanny musings or the man he couldn’t tear his eyes off of. They grappled with the inconsistencies of the case, finding safety in the constant of each other. 

\---

And one day, eventually, they were even closer than before. Sure they started out hunched over the same yellowed map on Harry’s desk, but then they pointed at the same spot simultaneously. Harry exhaled a chuckle as their eyes met and then suddenly Dale was right there. His body turned ever so slightly. The fabric of their clothes occupying the same half an inch of air. 

They straightened. Stood up. Turned again, ever so slightly closer. 

Cooper had an awareness of fate etched into every fiber of his being, and he knew this was a moment he had been lead towards. Harry felt completely on his own in this universe, but he couldn’t deny the push he felt to close what little space there was between them.

Harry cupped Dale’s jaw with his hand and Dale moved his head imperceptibly up and towards the touch. They held the eye contact for a moment as they leaned closer and closer, painfully slowly, neither one wanting to close the gap for fear of misreading the situation, altering their relationship forever. But they both spoke this language. They were the sole creators. They were on the same page as always, writing the sentences together. 

It’s unclear who made the final move, but suddenly their lips were against each other. Just barely a whisper of a shadow. And as neither one pulled back, their self-restraint evaporated. 

Dale’s hand found Harry’s waist and pulled him closer. Harry moved his hand from jaw to hairline, tangling his fingers in the thick gel. They kissed with their mouths wide open, their hearts beating, their minds singing.  


Dale moved his hands to begin unbuttoning Harry’s shirt and Harry paused, separated, eyed the office they were in. “Coop-“

“Harry. Please.”

Those big hazel eyes stared into his own, and Dale’s lips were red and wet from Harry’s mouth, and the day was quiet and the door was closed and his shirt was off and his undershirt followed suit and Dale stared.  
“My God, Harry. You’re amazing.”

Harry would have been embarrassed, self-conscious, if he wasn’t so focused on Dale’s warm breath on his chest, his gentle kisses just above his hips as Dale undid his belt and guided his pants to the floor. Kneeling, Dale softly cupped Harry through his boxers and looked up as Harry leaned into Dale and grunted his approval. 

Dale rocked back on his knees, pulling his face away as he moved his hands back to Harry’s waist. 

And there was that smile. The smile Harry felt so drawn to. The smile that brightened this murder-tinted town and shown like a beacon in this labyrinthine mystery. 

Harry’s hands met Dale’s, guiding them to drop his boxers. Dale stroked up Harry’s length and a quiet moan escaped Harry’s mouth. 

Dale felt so honored to elicit such a noise from Harry, growing harder himself as he slowly enveloped Harry in his mouth and Harry roughly wove his fingers into his hair. 

Warmth, and pressure, and gentle little vibrations radiated into Harry. He moved one hand to grip the Coop’s shoulder and kept the other in the pristine hair he was slowly, thoughtlessly, working the gel out of. His hips thrust forward, testing Coop’s limits. Not at all wanting to choke him but just wanting to be closer. As close as possible. His eyes closed in response to the sensations, but he fought to open them up again, to keep looking at Cooper. 

The warmth pooled in Harry’s stomach grew hotter, more insistent, as Harry fully processed what Dale was doing. One hand was wrapped around Harry’s waist, slowly massaging him in time with the bob of his head and the flick of his tongue. But the other hand was down between Dale’s knees. Dale unzipped his own pants and worked his cock through the fabric, his long fingers beginning to rub up and down as his grip on Harry’s hip tightened. 

Dale was so focused on making Harry feel good and he expected nothing in return. Harry, grateful, knew he would have to make it up to him later. He was already looking forward to it.

They continued to move together until Harry felt the pinpricks of heat traveling up through his body, forking out from his chest into his shoulders, back down into his groin. His hairs stood on end and he gasped, sharp, and continuous, as he came into Dale’s mouth. 

Dale hummed happily, proudly, as he shuddered into his own climax, messily handling a tissue he must have grabbed off of Harry’s desk. He separated from Harry, beaming, as Harry stared, dazed, and out of breath. 

“Wow” Harry managed, after a moment. 

Standing up, Dale licked his lips and trailed his hands up Harry’s chest. “Wow indeed, Sheriff.” 

Harry’s eyes were locked on Dale’s mouth and he leaned in for another kiss that Dale gladly matched. Harry felt punch-drunk and warm, shocked that their days together had led to this, so thankful that they had. 

But suddenly he pulled away, aware as if for the first time that he was standing naked in his office. He mumbled something incoherently as he bent down to pull his boxers and pants back up from where they were pooled around his feet.  


Dale laughed quietly and put his hand on Harry’s chest again, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s necklaces. He pressed a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips before passing Harry his shirts, which Harry quickly tugged over his head before meeting Dale’s eyes again. Lost in them.

Neither spoke, but neither had to. Harry considered asking for an explanation, conjuring one up himself in preparation, but he realized it didn’t need to be said right now. Nothing needed to be said, at least not out-loud.  
Harry allowed his pinky finger to reach out and rub the top of Dale’s hand on the desk, and Dale brought his other hand to the small of Harry’s back in return. This was the language they knew, and the language they needed right now. Their own set of touches and glances that communicated the world. They found comfort here.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think about this! Especially if there's any concrit. Thanks for reading! xxx


End file.
